


Wonderfully Distracting

by Accidental_Ducky, psychedelicbubblegum



Series: Absolution [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Canon era in places, F/M, M/M, Modern AU in places, One-sided Gafou, Oneshot Series, Past Gafou, Post Movie, Pre-Movie, Stafou, StanFou, pining Stanley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-11 22:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10475877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelicbubblegum/pseuds/psychedelicbubblegum
Summary: “Actually,” Stanley murmurs,” I might’ve forgotten about any asking after I had my arm around LeFou’s waist.” Tom throws his arms in the air with a groan, shooting the man across from him an exasperated look.“For fucks sake, Stan!”“If asking someone out is so damn easy, then I’d like to see you do it!”[Oneshot series]





	1. Wonderfully Distracting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou falls into Stanley's arms in a way he wasn't exactly expecting.

The tavern was nearly full that evening, people almost having to yell in order to be heard over the other ruckus. It was normal considering how cold it was outside, the comforting warmth something Stanley craved after working all day. Tom and Dick felt the same, laughing loudly at some joke or another as Stanley waited to pay for three tankards of beer.

He wasn’t really paying much attention to his surroundings and so never noticed the two men shoving until a third person was knocked sideways into Stanley’s side. It’s pure instinct to wrap one arm around the person and grip the bar with his free hand, keeping his hold tight and secure until he was steady again. That’s when he noticed who he had an arm around, the warm and chubby body of Gaston’s right-hand man pressed against his side.

Stanley’s mouth goes dry immediately as his brain processes this sudden turn, taking in the dark hair that brushed LeFou’s shoulders, the way he was dressed as nicely as usual, and the grateful smile turning up the corners of the other man’s mouth. He was gorgeous in a way that no one else in the village managed, just an all-around good human being that did his best to keep the rowdier Gaston under a semblance of control.

“Thanks,” LeFou chuckles, grinning up at the taller man. Friendly, sweet, it was all the things Stanley loved about him. Now, if only he could smile back… Or reply… Or move. He knew he had to look completely ridiculous, staring down at the other man with what must have been the weirdest look LeFou’s ever seen on another man. Stanley wasn’t entirely sure what his face was doing, to be completely honest.

“LeFou,” Gaston shouts from across the tavern, voice booming as it always was,” what’s taking so long?”

“Coming!” LeFou’s smile brightens when he looks towards the mountain of a man that he’d claimed as his best friend and Stanley’s heart broke a little at the sight. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that LeFou was in love with Gaston, which also explained why the latter had no idea about the infatuation. “Thanks again for catching me, Stanley.” Stanley just nods along numbly, watching LeFou gather the steins from the bar and make his way back through the crowd towards the chairs closest to the fireplace.

Swallowing thickly, Stanley moves back to his own table, completely forgetting about the order he was meant to place and everything that wasn’t the glittering of brown eyes and that bright grin he’d never be able to get out of his mind.

“So, did you finally ask him around for dinner,” Tom asks once Stanley sat down across from him.

“Of course he didn’t,” Dick says smartly. “Just look at his face, obviously LeFou did all the asking. Ain’t that right?” Stanley looks up at his friends, taking in the expectant looks with apprehension. He had been working up the nerve for months to ask LeFou over for a quiet dinner, but every opportunity seemed to slip right through his fingers.

“Actually,” Stanley murmurs,” I might’ve forgotten about any asking after I had my arm around LeFou’s waist.” Tom throws his arms in the air with a groan, shooting the man across from him an exasperated look.

“For fucks sake, Stan!”

“If asking someone out is so damn easy, then I’d like to see you do it!”


	2. Little Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou and Stanley's daughter takes her first steps and LeFou takes another selfie.

The day Suzanna took her first step was a momentous one for LeFou and Stanley, both of them cheering the toddling girl on. She was grinning, so bright and warm and wonderful, babbling on in her own language as she attempted to cross the distance with her little arms held out for balance.

“That’s it, Suzie,” he encourages with a smile of his own. “You’re doing great!” The baby giggles at her daddy’s words, the sound like music to his ears. Suzanna was one of the best things to ever happen to him, the other being Stanley, and he would do whatever he could to ensure she grew up happy and confident.

“Of course she’s doing great,” Stanley adds,” look at who’s raising her.” He gestures between the pair of them, the look he sends LeFou’s way making his heart race. Stanley always had that effect on him, making every moment feel like it was the first all over again. It was so different than the way Gaston had treated him, more natural and loving, and LeFou couldn’t get enough of it.

“A little cocky today, aren’t we?” Stanley shrugs a shoulder, following after their daughter in case she toppled backwards. Seeing a man as tall as Stanley walking on his knees behind a giggling baby was a sight LeFou adored and the fact that they were a family made it even better.

“Dee,” Suzanna calls, cheeks flushed in excitement,” Dee!”

“That’s right!”

“Da-dee!”

“That’s me, Suzie! Come on, you’re almost here!” Breathless, she almost collapses against him in a hug, LeFou scooping the blonde up in his arms and delivering a loud smooch to one of her chubby cheeks. She was warm as she snuggled against him, little fingers tightening on the shoulders of his top as he stood with some help from his husband.

“Such a good job, my little princess,” Stanley praises, bopping her nose. Suzanna giggles again, reaching out the cover her papa’s nose with one hand while the other stayed gripping LeFou’s shirt. “I bet your auntie Belle will give you a new book for taking your first steps so soon.”

“She’s basically got an entire room in that library for herself already. By the time she’s grown, she’ll have to just open her own library across town.”

“Adam would buy it for her, too.” Adam and Belle loved to spoil the children of the village, but Suzanna was the only one they spent so much time with. LeFou was almost positive they were using her as practice sometimes since their own baby was due in a few months. Suzanna loved sitting in her auntie’s lap and feeling the small kicks of the other baby, her blue eyes always so wide and full of wonder when it happens.

“Huddle up, we need to document this.”

“Oh, Étienne,” Stanley groans,” not another selfie.” It was still so strange to hear him use LeFou’s real name, but he liked the way it rolled off Stanley’s tongue far easier than the nickname he’s been stuck with since childhood.

“Shut it and smile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I figured LeFou's actual name could be Étienne in this series considering the only person that would look at their kid and decide to name him 'the fool' would be Denethor.


	3. Family Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley gets introduced to LeFou's dad and something unexpected happens.

To say LeFou was nervous about introducing Stanley to his father would be the biggest understatement of the century. He hadn’t officially come out to his dad yet, wasn’t exactly sure how, and then Stanley came up with the idea to just do it all in one swoop. LeFou could just picture it now, _hey, Dad, this is Stanley and we’re adopting a baby together. By the way, I’m as straight as a wet spaghetti noodle_.

He _really_ hoped his father wouldn’t start swinging.

“Why are you so stressed,” Stanley asks, arching one of his brows. They were perfectly waxed this morning, LeFou noted, and his lips a slightly darker pink than usual to hint at the lipstick he was fond of wearing. LeFou loved how open his boyfriend was, how he wasn’t afraid to wear dresses on one day and a full suit the next, depending on how he felt when he woke up. Today he seemed somewhere in the middle, dressed in a nice button-down and slacks while also sporting a thin line of blue eyeliner on his top lids and his nails the same powder blue as his shirt.

“Because I don’t know how my father will react to all of this,” LeFou admits, shifting in the driver’s seat. Where LeFou was all nervous energy, Stanley was completely relaxed next to him, even slouching a little in the seat. He was great company on long car trips, though he did have a tendency of getting distracted by the scenery of the French countryside.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it.”

“How do you know? I’ve known the man all my life and I still don’t know what’s going through his head half the time.” His father was short and chubby just like LeFou, though the older man was far stronger and had a tendency to avoid smiles like he was allergic to them. In fact, LeFou could count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen his father smile and most of those had been when Gaston was around.

“He helped to shape you into the man you are today, so he can’t be too bad.” Stanley shoots him one of those dazzling smiles that showed off his perfect teeth, LeFou swallowing hard as he fought to keep his attention on the winding road. It wouldn’t exactly be a good impression if they wrecked just because LeFou had been in total awe of his boyfriend’s good looks. “He also punched Gaston that one time at the tavern,” Stanley muses.

“Yeah, that _was_ pretty funny.” Julien Lacroix may not look like a strong man, but he had flattened Gaston with one hit after witnessing the larger man trying to manipulate LeFou into taking the blame for a prank gone wrong. “I think that was the last time my dad came to the tavern, actually. He stopped letting Gaston show up at his house as well.”

“Obviously he has good taste.” LeFou snorts, remembering the tacky clothes his father adored and the fanny packs he’d worn numerous times on school fieldtrips. He might be a good judge of people, but fashion was something else entirely.

They fall into a comfortable silence, LeFou keeping his eyes on the road while Stanley looked out the window at the blurs of green and blue.

It was another fifteen minutes before they came to a stop in front of a nice house, not overly large nor too small; made of dark brick with a roof of red metal that wasn’t there the last time LeFou had stopped by for a visit. The shutters were painted a dark tan color and the only real color belonged to the flowers planted close to the house, the shades of pinks, blues, and purples brightening the place up.

LeFou doesn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt, staring up at the house with trepidation as he tried to talk himself into moving. This had the possibility of going horribly wrong, his father might be homophobic and demand LeFou to leave his house at once or he could just give him that look of disappointment that could cut even the strongest men to the core. And LeFou’s core wasn’t a strong one, it was gooey.

 _I’m a fucking Snickers bar_.

“Are you coming, _mon beau_ ,” Stanley asks. It’s not until he speaks that LeFou realizes that his boyfriend is already out of the car and is bending at the waist to peer inside.

“Uh… Y-yeah.” LeFou gets out of the car and pockets the keys, leading the way up to the front door. He freezes again, finger resting against the doorbell, but not pressing it. _What was I thinking? I can’t do this yet, I’m not ready!_ Before he could lower his hand and run for the hills, Stanley covers LeFou’s finger with his own and they press the small button together. “We’re gonna die.”

“No, we’re not.”

“He’ll bury us in the backyard.”

“Or he’ll invite us in for tea.”

“Oh God,” LeFou squeaks, turning to face Stanley. “He’s gonna poison the tea!” Stanley, ever in control, simply reaches out to straighten LeFou’s bowtie. It was small and a dark pink that perfectly matched Stanley’s lipstick, picked out specifically for that reason this morning. “Is it too late to hide and let him think teenagers are playing Ding Dong Ditch?” Before Stanley could answer, the front door swing open and LeFou gulps almost audibly.

“Étienne,” Julien greets with a polite nod. Still no smile, though, there never was when he dropped by without calling first. Who was he kidding? He didn’t even get a smile when he did call first. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I can leave if you’re busy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You drove all the way here from Villeneuve, you must be tired.” He was exhausted, the anxiety and long drive only combining to make him ready to drop. To his credit, he did his best to keep his back straight and his head up as his father liked. Good posture was important to the older man, it meant confidence even if it was only feigned. “Who’s your friend?”

“Stanley Beaumont,” Stanley greets with that broad grin of his, thrusting one hand out. Julien shakes it, grip firm and steady just as Stanley’s was. After coming out, Stanley had been more confident than ever and it seemed to rub off on LeFou sometimes. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Monsieur Lacroix.”

“Please, just call me Julien. Come in, both of you, and I’ll get some tea started.” Julien turns and walks further into the house, the other two following after him. LeFou swallows hard again, hiding his shaking hands in the pockets of his pants. The anxiety was building even more and he felt like he was going to be sick, wanting nothing more than to go hide under his bed like he had as a child.

“You have a nice house, Julien.”

“Thank you, Stanley. Étienne’s mother was quite the architect and came up with all the plans for the house.” He shrugs a little, a fond tilt to his lips that always appeared when LeFou’s mother was brought up. Even if the man hadn’t been the best at dolling out affection, Julien had loved LeFou’s mother more than life itself.

“Ah, that must be where her son gets it, then.”

“He certainly didn’t get his eye for detail from me.” LeFou sits himself at the kitchen table when they finally come into the kitchen, gripping the arms of his chair tight enough to make his knuckles ache. Stanley seems to notice as he sits as well, resting one hand over LeFou’s while keeping his eyes on Julien. “What brings the two of you out here?”

“We have some good news.”

“Is it that you both are finally together?” LeFou chokes on his own spit at his father’s words, Stanley having to slap his back when he goes into a coughing fit. His father knew already? Why didn’t he say something? What hadn’t he called or even sent a _good for you, boy_ on Facebook? How the hell did he even find out?

“You know,” LeFou manages to choke out.

“Of course I know,” Julien retorts, looking miffed. “Son, you were fawning over that oaf Gaston for years and you weren’t exactly subtle about it. And this one—” here he gestures towards Stanley with a spoon “—has been admiring your ass since your junior year in high school.” Stanley blushes a dark red at the reveal, a bashful smile turning his lips upwards.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Because I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. God knows I didn’t think it’d take this long.” LeFou couldn’t believe it, he’d been so terrified of coming out to his father only to find out the man had known even before LeFou did. “So, do you have a wedding planned yet or are you going to wait twenty years for that, too?”

“We’re working up to that.”

“Good, I’m happy to hear it.” There was a moment of silence where Julien pattered around the kitchen to keep his hands busy and the other two men sat in their chairs and wondered if anyone else had known before they did. “Was there another reason for dropping by?”

“We’re adopting a baby,” Stanley states, always straight to the point. “A little girl we’ve decided to name Suzanna after your wife.” He shifts in his seat to pull out his wallet, handing over the little picture the case worker had given them after they started the paperwork. The infant in the picture was pale with small, pale curls on her head, big blue eyes, and the most peculiar pointed ears.

“She’s beautiful.” And that’s when it happened, that small yet undeniably big change that had LeFou’s eyes widening. Of all the scenarios that had gone through his mind the past few days, this hadn’t been one of them. He’d pictured his father yelling and screaming at them, beating at them with a broom, or even punching LeFou just as he had Gaston. But this, _this_ , was something that had never occurred to him.

His father smiled.


	4. Liquid Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom shows Stanley how asking someone out is done. 
> 
> Dick is very confused.

"If asking someone out is so damn easy, then I'd like to see you do it!"

Tom raises one of his bushy brows at that, adjusting in his seat so that he could see his friend better through the haze of smoke. There were a lot of things he could say about that, but he’d hold his tongue for now because, despite what others said, he could be a decent human being when he wanted to.

“Where’s our drinks,” he asks instead. Stanley blushes a dark red, just realizing he’d stumbled across the tavern empty-handed. Not that Tom could blame the lad, LeFou had been so close to him that he was sure Stanley’s head was spinning. It was probably best he’d sat down without the beers so that he could avoid falling flat on his face.

“Sorry, I was just…. He was _there_ ,” Stanley says by way of explanation. A dopey expression came over his face and he let out a little sigh, complete adoration in his eyes as he thought back to what had happened. Tom did the same when no one was looking, thinking about that special person that made the provincial town a little more bearable. “I’ll buy this round.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” Dick says, smiling a little as he stands up. Tom smiles as well, more because his friend was smiling rather than the prospect of free beer, though the latter did factor in. Dick may not be the smartest man in the world or even the most handsome—that title fell on the broad shoulders of Gaston—but he was a hell of a cook and could spout out sense from time to time. That was enough for Tom.

“He’s not over there, is he?” Tom stands and looks towards the bar, not finding the short man Stanley was referring to. Honestly, Tom couldn’t see why his friend was so hung up on a man that obviously favored another, but to each his own.

“No, Stan,” Tom reassures him,” he’s over with the Prince of our village. Gaston wasn’t the best man to be around, too much praising for Tom’s liking, but at least he offered some protection against the rougher types. _He’s not bad on the eyes either_. You’d have to be blind to call Gaston ugly, his physical presence enough to set the three bimbettes swooning, but Tom still preferred a working man more than the preening kind.

“What does LeFou see in that man?”

“Probably not much since he’s tiny,” Dick snorts. Tom arches a brow again, this time aimed towards the other member of their trio. The other man has the good sense to blush when he spots the irritated look on Stanley face, shrugging a thick shoulder. “Sorry, didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“You do that a lot.”

“It’s a talent, really.” Tom rolls his eyes, taking the collars of their shirts and steering the buffoons over to the bar. Three spots had just opened up and he was praying that the increased blood flow to Dick’s brain might get him to shut his trap. It wasn’t likely to happen, but he could always hope. “What you need to do is get lover boy away from Gaston, then he’ll be able to focus on the words pouring out of your mouth. Maybe quote that book you like so much.”

“Yeah, I doubt anyone would think of _Hamlet_ as romantic, Dick, but thanks for trying.” That was one thing that separated the three men, Stanley was genuinely _smart_ , he could recite things from the books he occasionally borrowed from Pere Robert and he was learning to write with some help from the odd girl that lived just outside the village, though he’d never admit it aloud. Tom was able to write his name well enough and he could make out a few words, but Dick could do neither one and didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest. Not much got to Dick, he seemed unaffected by the goings on of their village.

Tom raps his knuckles on the bar, holding up three fingers when the bartender looks his way. The pudgy man gives a slight nod and sets to grabbing the tankards while the three men turn with their backs against the bar. They could see everything from here, the drunkards making fools of themselves, the serving wenches going about their business and trying to avoid groping hands, Gaston moping by the fireplace with LeFou at his elbow.

It was almost sickening, really, seeing a good person like LeFou doting on such an idiot as Gaston. Tom did it in order to get a few coins out of the deal whenever bolstering was needed and Dick did it just for something to do, but Stanley did it just to be closer to the other man. He thinks that LeFou would glance his way one of these days, that something would click into place when their gazes met, and maybe, _just maybe_ , LeFou would feel that little spark that Stanley had blooming in his chest.

Tom glances towards Dick again, taking in the way he was completely relaxed and his cheeks flushed from the stifling heat of the tavern. Despite the late hour, there were still a lot of people bustling around inside, trying to escape the cold that waited beyond the front door. It was June, but nighttime was an unforgiving thing, the bitterly cold wind blowing in from the dark forest chilling everything in its path.

He nearly jumps right out of his skin when the bartender sets the cups down and they clink against each other on the bar. Stanley shoots him a questioning look, but he studiously ignores it as he takes a long swallow of mead. He would need it for what he was planning and he hoped he wouldn’t have to explain it in detail to Dick later on. _Not_ , Tom thinks with an unapologetic smile, _that it would bother me much to spend more time with him_.

“Alright, Stan,” he forces out after another deep swig,” this is what you have to do.” He sets the mug down and turns Dick around to face him, the other man going along with it with that silly smile of his. “Dick, you’re a good, hardworking and honest man.”

“I like to think so, yeah,” he nods in agreement.

“Would you like to come for dinner at my house tomorrow evening?”

“Sure. Stan, you want to come as well?” He was turning to face their lanky friend when Tom caught his chin and turn the face back toward his, making sure to look Dick right in the eye.

“No, Dick, just me an’ you.” Dick blinked once. Twice. Cocked his head to the side a little, then he seemed to realize what Tom was doing. His mouth opened and he made a soft noise, nodding a little in that almost childlike way of his.

“Yeah, alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So @grumpyhobbit over on Tumblr reblogged my StanFou fic and added a joke about Tom asking Dick out to show Stanley how it's done and I just couldn't resist.


	5. A Royal Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle goes into labor, Adam and Maurice have a conversation in an elevator, and LeFou sucks in a crisis.

The day Belle went into labor had started off fairly normal, no big fusses on the way to the library and a coffee waiting on her desk by the time she’d waddled her way inside. LeFou had dropped it off as he always did, already reading to the smaller children going off the animated noises coming from down the hall. She smiles a little, only having to close her eyes to picture the way the chubby man was running around the reading room, book in one hand while the other was gesturing wildly.

He was a big help since Belle’s pregnancy started to slow her down a little, good with children since he had a little girl of his own. Suzanna, not even one yet, would be seated in her stroller, kicking her little feet back and forth and giggling along with the other kids. She was good child, always smiling about something and rarely crying, which is something Belle appreciated when she and Adam babysat on Wednesday nights.

They had thought about adopting another baby, but had quickly changed their minds after learning Belle would be having a baby. Their town was small and there weren’t too many people the Princess would trust to watch over her baby (Adam was still trying to put together the crib they’d bought last year for Suzanna).

“I’ll get it done today,” he’d call after her every morning. That’s been almost nine months now and the thing was still in pieces all over the nursery. All Belle could hope for is her baby actually being a girl considering the crib was white with little flowers and vines painted along the railing of it.

“…And then the spell was broken,” she could hear LeFou saying as she walked out of her office. “The three little mice were human again!” Belle smiles a little, pausing in the doorway of the room so she could see how many kids they had that morning. There weren’t nearly as many as they had on weekends, just two three year olds and little Suzie, all of them watching LeFou with wide-eyed awe. “And do any of you know the moral of the story?”

“Don’t steal cheese,” one of the kids shouts.

“Stay away from stinky, old witches,” adds the child’s twin. They were boys, Brandon and Brycen, and came every day since they were still too young for school. Suzie points to Brycen, nodding her head.

“Cheese,” she repeats,” cheese, Dee!” LeFou grins at them all, ruffling his daughter’s curls. He was such a good father, always ready to cuddle with Suzie or even submit himself to endless lullabies to get her to sleep for more than an hour. Belle smiles a little, remembering the time just last week when she’d caught Adam making airplane noises as he tried to get Suzie to eat.

Adam would make a good father, Belle knew this already, but the man himself still questioned it. His own father had been abusive and warped his son into a beast, now Adam was worried about doing the same. He would still wake up in the middle of the night, trembling and looking around wildly for the Enchantress that had cursed him or the man that had beat him mercilessly.

It took Belle hours to calm him down some nights, promising him that the fears were completely normal and that he would be the best father in the world. Stanley helped as well, turning up like clockwork the morning after the nightmares came, like he had some inner voice that shouted _Adam’s had a rough night, bring cake!_

She was just about to turn and tend to a few books that never seemed to be in the right section when she felt it. At first she put it down to the baby moving, but then the pain started. It wasn’t too intense, more like gas, but it was in her lower back and she’d never felt gas pains there before.

“Are you alright,” LeFou asks, finally noticing her as he set the book aside. The twins were looking at her over their shoulders and she could spot Suzie peering around the side of the stroller, those brilliant blue eyes focused on the brunette currently trying to fake a smile.

“I’m fine,” she says, a hand at her back. “I’m just a little tired, is all.” She attempts to shrug it off, but the pain starts to grow more intense before ebbing slightly. She’s read plenty of books after finding out she was pregnant, she _knew_ what was happening, but she also knew LeFou would freak out the instant she says anything about it.

“You look a little pale.” A crease forms between his brows as he attempts to focus on her while bringing a plate of cookies down for the kids. She stays leaning against the doorjamb, unable to move away as another contraction hits and knocks a grunt out of her. “Oh, my God,” LeFou shrieks, eyes widening almost comically. “We have to get you to the hospital!”

“What about the kids?”

“Last one to my minivan is a rotten egg!” The twins leave the reading room at a dead sprint, LeFou making it halfway to the front door before his eyes go wide and he spins clumsily on his heel. “Stanley would kill me if I forget our daughter again.”

“Again? You’ve left her before?”

“My dad fell and hurt himself, I burnt my hand trying to get Stanley’s hair curled the way he wanted, and she was napping.” LeFou waves a hand as he passes her again and makes it to the stroller. “Let’s just say I’m not always the best in a crisis and leave it at that.” Belle manages to smile through the contraction, leaning heavily on her friend as they make their way through the library. “Call Adam and Maurice,” he calls to the assistant librarian as an afterthought. “Tell them we’re going to the hospital and they better get there soon if they want to see the new little Princess!”

“Or Prince,” Belle remarks, breathless as the pain recedes again,” I could always be having a little boy.”

“Not according to all those ultrasounds you’ve had.” It was true, every doctor she’s seen so far has remarked that she’s having a girl, the ultrasounds were just added proof. This far along, Belle wouldn’t even care if her baby came out covered in fur so long as it was healthy.

“Baby,” Suzie says, kicking her feet.

“That’s right, Auntie Belle is going to have the baby. Are you excited, Suzie?”

“Baby!”

“Just think, you’ll have random words being screamed at you in a year or so.” Belle shakes her head, remembering all the times she and Adam had woken to the word _apple_ being yelled whenever they kept Suzanna for the night. It’s a good thing she’s adorable or Adam would’ve been grumpy.

“Let’s just focus on getting this baby here before we teach her any fun words.” LeFou laughs, almost sounding manic in his panic to get everyone inside the minivan. Adam had laughed his head off when LeFou and Stanley had first purchased the thing, but it was quickly cut off when Maurice reminded him that a baby could ride on a motorcycle.

“I’m gonna teach her to say _avocado_.”

* * *

Adam rushes inside the hospital several hours later, a chattering Maurice following behind as they run up to the reception desk. They’d been delayed by a storm in the next village and had to wait it out before they continued, Maurice angrily talking at him the entire time. “And another thing,” the old man continued as Adam asks the nurse for his wife’s room number,” my granddaughter will not be practicing with a sword until she’s at least thirty!”

“Isn’t that a little excessive,” Adam asks, walking quickly for the elevator bank. “I mean, thirty is a bit old to learning sword fighting. And anyway, she wouldn’t need to learn it considering it’s no long the eighteen-hundreds, Maurice.”

“Yes, but when has that ever stopped you from trying to use a barter system?”

“It was one time and I was willing to trade a top of the line game system for a baby monitor.”

“It was a _Wii_ , not something people actually play anymore, Adam.” The Prince scoffs, pressing the correct button and tapping his foot. As each floor number passed them by, the anxiousness in Adam’s belly seemed to condense into a ball that weighted down his stomach. He felt like he was going to be sick, a nervous sweat dotting his brow as he tried to keep the man next to him from finding out how unprepared he really was.

_The crib isn’t even set up yet, I got distracted when Maurice showed up and asked for a ride. How will I know what to do when my daughter is here?_

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” Maurice’s voice is quieter this time, calm and pensive as he stares over at the younger man. His hair was a mess as it usually was, the white strands sticking to his face in places from the rain and his coat drenched. Adam was in much the same state, though at least he’d had the good sense to button his coat to keep the clothes beneath from getting too wet. “I remember fainting when Belle was born.”

“Really,” Adam asks, brows coming together as he turns to face the other man. “But you’re such a good father.” Maurice laughs, a frail thing that seemed too loud in the limited space. Suddenly the man really looked his age, a tired old man that had seen the years fly by in a blur of laughter and heartache.

“I just did my best, Adam. I got lucky because Belle is as good a child as she is headstrong. You being nervous right now lets me know that you’ll be a good father.” Adam’s brows nearly hit his hairline, Maurice not the type to comment on whether or not he’d actually like his daughter’s husband. “You’re a good man and my daughter loves you, so that’s enough for me.”

“Thank you, Maurice.”

“Thank me after we get out of his blasted box.” That surprises a laugh out of him, white teeth glinting in the fluorescent lights. “Ah, here we are.” The bell dings soon afterwards, the door sliding open and allowing the two men to run out. They burst into the hospital room, Adam coming up short when he catches sight of his wife. Belle was lying in the hospital bed, hair pulled back off her face and a brilliant smile turning her lips upwards, an infant cradled in her arms.

“Congratulations, Adam,” she says softly,” you have a son.”

“A son,” Adam asks, walking on unsteady legs to peer down at the child. It looked so small in Belle’s arms, cheeks flushed a healthy pink and a tuft of dark brown hair matted to its head. His ears hadn’t tricked him, though, it was indeed a little boy his wife was holding. “I have a son.”

“I thought we could name him Maurice.” A soft gasp behind him lets him know that his father-in-law had heard Belle. “We could call him _Mo_ for short so we don’t get confused. What do you think?”

“I think he’s as perfect as his mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happened mainly because it's my older brother's birthday and the fact that I still giggle since he was born on April Fool's Day and was supposed to be a girl.


	6. first day nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which LeFou helps comfort his daughter on her first day of school

The small hand was clammy and warm under LeFou’s grip as he stood at the precipice of the playground, thrum of laughter and shrieking voices thick within the air as a whirlwind of colour – coats, bags, shoes – flashed before him, the sight of children running across tarmac in a herd of excitement and hyperactivity. It was clear the school bell’s ring was approaching as there was a wistfulness to the delight of the small figures in their games, the scrape of chalk and thwack of balls reminiscent of the vague memories LeFou himself held of the early days of school, ushered into the foray by his mother after some initial hesitance.

Suzanna had proved to be far more effectively stubborn.

Her feet were twisting anxiously beneath her, trainers grinding against the concrete as she shifted from foot to foot, eyes kept firmly fixated upon the floor as her spare handed incessantly patted the hair around her ears in a rhythmic tapping motion. She looked a picture today, mostly thanks to Stanley’s hard efforts. Despite having been working until around one o’clock in the morning, LeFou’s husband somehow forced himself out of bed at six in order to get Suzanna’s hair curled and select an outfit he deemed would make a ‘good impression’ on her classmates. Admittedly, LeFou was sceptical many preschool aged children had the same interest in personal grooming their daughter did (mostly thanks to having one of the best dressed dad’s this side of France), but the joy Suzie always took in flinging open her wardrobe doors and rifling through the assorted clothing was more than enough to dismiss any sarcastic jokes LeFou might have usually flung at his husband.

The lemon ruffles of her thin-strapped dress complimented the silvery blonde of her hair perfectly and the white trainers would make movement easier for her, not to mention it’d stop her appearing too overdressed – Stanley had lectured him in the importance of ‘obtaining this balance’ on many occasions, but the melodic patterns of the man’s voice (rich and inviting, a romantic symphony to LeFou’s ears; practically magical whenever he was singing – which, thank God, his job often required: entertainment industry and all) hooked him in every time. Years of honing in charm and confidence had given Stanley a demeanour capable of putting even the most neurotic of souls (prime example, his own husband) at ease, and if he hadn’t been so tired from his show going on so late and hauling himself up to help Suzanna look perfect for her official first day of school, he would’ve been the one taking her, and undeniably doing a far better job convincing her to take the leap of faith onto the playground.

Even after a complex routine composed of comedy, lip-syncing and dancing for a hen party that’d gone on half the night and four hours of sleep, Stanley Beaumont had somehow managed to perfectly etch pastel rosebuds onto the white varnish coating Suzie’s stubby nails and had recovered her favourite cardigan from the tumble dryer before ironing it, only then allowing himself to go back to bed. He’d always been selfless in the face of those he loved – such a contrast to Gaston, who’d demanded blind loyalty and devotion from his best friend without showing any interest in returning the favour – and LeFou was certain if he hadn’t already offered to be the one to accompany Suzie that day, Stanley would’ve made a good attempt to do so. Sometimes LeFou’s head span at the realisation such a wonderful person had chosen to be with him. Years of simply being an inconsequential sidekick to the town’s beloved picture of masculinity had caused the man to learn how to devalue himself in favour of praising Gaston; it’d been surreal initially when Stanley had heaped praises upon him and shown him the affection his so called ‘best friend’ hadn’t deemed necessary of anyone, bar himself. The time when Gaston had been the centre of LeFou’s world seemed a blurred memory – now with a husband and a daughter by his side, he didn’t need the friendship of someone so egocentric, and (as unreal as it’d seemed at first), he hadn’t missed the other man anywhere near as much as he’d thought in the years of his absence.

He was pulled out of his thought process at the sensation of his hand being tugged slightly, gaze flicking downwards to where eyes the colour of cornflower were peering up at him, clouded with nervousness and unpleasant anticipation. “Daddy…” Suzanna’s voice came out in a faint mutter; alien to the usual joyous birdsong he was used to. “Do I really have to go today?”

His eyes had been increasingly drawn to small hands attempting to pull strands of hair over those distinctly pointed ears in the car, considerably difficult as Stanley had taken great care in clipping back Suzanna’s neatly curled hair so her beautiful face could be put on proper display. She’d never explicitly voiced an opinion on that distinctive element of her biology, but over the years LeFou had become more and more aware of her habit of attempting to cover her ears, most often with her hair; typically by it tied tightly into bunches which she would pull over the pointed tips. Upon Suzanna’s adoption, he and his husband had been informed by a doctor affiliated with the children’s home that they were mostly likely the results of a birth defect, suspected to be in her maternal lineage, but that surgery would be pointless as the shape wouldn’t present any implements upon her hearing. Despite this fact – and no-one having ever brought up the subject of Suzanna’s ears, particularly in front of her – over the years it seemed to have dawned on her that those around her didn’t have the same sharpened tip she carried, and gradually, it had become an anxiety, something she feared her peers would tease her about.

“Oh chéri,” the dark haired man sighed affectionately, kneeling before her so they were eye to eye – his honeyed brown upon her breath taking blue – so he could put his hands upon her shoulders gently, “I know it might seem frightening now, but it’s best to be brave and face these things. You’ll have to come here one day, and if you start on the same day as all the other children, it’ll be easier for you to make friends.”

She was nibbling on her lip now, eyes darting quickly towards the direction of the other children, who seemed obliviously wrapped up in their games still, the giggling and shouting still rumbling in the background. “But…what if the other children don’t like me? What if they make fun of me or think I’m different?” She didn’t need to say what she was worrying about – LeFou had been both anticipating and preparing for this conversation the second she’d been taken home by them, and in such hindsight, he’d attempted to plan out the most comforting and logical talk he could give her at such a young age.

“I know you think you’re different to the other children because of your ears, ma bichette,” he smiled gently, tapping the edge of one of those small ears, making her squirm and giggle, wriggling slightly in his grip, “but remember, everyone in your class is going to be different. All the other little boys and girls you’re going to meet today are going to have something that makes them unique, and you just have something that makes it a little more obvious, but in Papa and mine’s eyes, makes you even more special.” A warmth began to blossom in his chest then as she began to return his smile, her eyes illuminating with a tranquillity that had formerly been overcast by fear. “You look like a princess today, as you do every day, and if anyone says anything to you which is unkind, it will only be because they are jealous. I mean, who else has such a lovely cardigan?” He grinned, tugging on the shoulders of her knitted outerwear – cream wool embroided with crimson roses.

The cardigan had been knitted especially for Suzanna by Stanley’s younger sister, Elise, a dressmaker who lived several towns away and owned her own clothing shop, where she occasionally specialised in handmade wedding dresses. Upon meeting the rest of his boyfriend’s family, LeFou had soon come to understand where that ‘don’t give a damn’ attitude had come from upon encountering a 5’5” woman with hair half shaved on one side of her head, a pierced tongue and a heavy leather jacket with white Doc Martens with neon blue laces, who just so happened to possess a love for Elvira, Paula Abdul and intimidating every man she came into contact with (LeFou apparently being the only boyfriend of Stanley’s she’d ever actually liked). He didn’t doubt for a second the story Stanley had told him about her punching out a security guard who falsely accused her of shoplifting. She’d also ended up contributing to Suzanna’s full name, part of her name being included in their daughter’s middle name, Adelise, which contributed further to Elise’s fondness of LeFou (which was already profound considering she’d assured him if Gaston ever showed up again, she’d break his face).

“If anything bad did happen I could tell you though?” The little girl muttered, and LeFou couldn’t resist the urge to gently pull her into a hug at the look of apprehension plastered across Suzie’s face.

“Of course chéri,” he nodded, rising to his feet with Suzanna still in his arms, rubbing her back slightly as he did so, a repetition of his actions whenever she had a nightmare. “But that isn’t going to happen because you’re going to make lots of friends and have a lot of fun, alright?” She was smiling as he settled her back down on the ground, the nerves still there. Understandable – it was a huge leap for such a young person; school was a hurdle, a place with a reputation dogged by bullying and competition, insecurity and exam pressures, but Étienne Beaumont would be damned if he was ever going to let his little girl get dragged down from the stress of the education system, and that required wiping away any nerves on her first day. Suzanna had practically adopted Mo as her little brother already and had devoted herself to dragging him into the world of reading (much to Belle’s delight), mostly through the medium of fairy tales. As far as Suzie was concerned, becoming a princess of some variety was her dream job, and Stanley had assured LeFou he was going to find a way to help her accomplish this. ‘I’m a drag queen darling’, he’d laughed with a flick of his French manicured nails. ‘Turning our daughter into a princess should be a walk in the proverbial park!’ 

“You really think I’ll make friends?” Suzanna was still holding onto both his hands and now was jumping up and down ever so slightly as determination seemed to be overcoming her initial discomfort and some of the confidence she’d always shown around the family increased.

“I know you will.” LeFou nodded, his smile encouraging her own as he pulled her into a quick hug as he took a quick glance at his watch. The bell was going to go in about a minute’s time if he’d memorised the school schedule correctly. “Who wouldn’t want to be your friend? Especially when your ears make you my favourite magic pixie!”

Suzanna giggled then releasing his hands so she could clap her own together as she turned back towards the other children, pulling her backpack a little closer to her as she nodded her head, as if confirming she’d just set herself a challenge, which LeFou had no doubt she had. “I’m going to go and make lots of friends!”

“And do lots of work?”

“Of course I am!” Her smirk was giving her away there, but she made it so adorable LeFou wasn’t even sure it properly counted as a smirk. “You’ll be here to take me home won’t you?” Suzie’s words were drowned out a little by the sound of the bell and her head turned sharply towards the noise before she turned back to him expectantly.

“Promise I will be.” LeFou only managed to give her shoulder one light, short squeeze as she took off across the playground to where the other small children were standing with their assortment of brightly coloured backpacks, her own (that white cat she’d gone crazy over when Stanley had bought it for her fourth birthday) shining like a beacon, dress flowing outwards, mimicking a ball gown almost as she did so, her steps light and graceful as she ran. She’d been hinting she wanted to attend ballet lessons, although LeFou saw them as slightly pointless where she was considered, as his daughter seemed unnaturally graceful for her years already; although part of him knew she was mostly interested as she’d learned Stanley did a lot of dancing in his routines, granted it was far more…risqué than anything you’d see at little kids classes.

It didn’t matter though. All that really mattered to him was that his daughter was taking the first step that would help her into adulthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aww LeFou, I think we all need a dad like you on our first day of school!
> 
> *chéri – sweetheart  
> *ma bichette – my little doe


	7. The Strangest Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam's first solo Easter egg hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because StanleyIsMyQueen wanted more Tom/Dick and I live to please ;)

Tom and Dick have witnessed a lot of crazy shit since the small village of Villeneuve had been reincarnated after nearly two hundred years (that still didn’t make much sense to Dick, the poor, confused bastard), but seeing their Prince hopping around with pink crayon on his nose and bunny ears on his head was something else altogether. Sure, they’d understand it had his son been young enough to hunt eggs or his daughter old enough to do more than drool, but neither of those things were happening.

Young Maurice was standing nearby with his baby sister in his arms, murmuring something to her that caused Belle to slap him upside the head. And that was another thing, Belle wasn’t even trying to stop Adam from hopping around with a little basket slowly filling with colorful eggs, just standing next to her children with her phone held up to videotape the moment.

Tom was half-tempted to jog over and ask the Princess about it, but then decided against it because then they’d have to use small talk afterwards and he didn’t feel up to that. Belle used big words that he didn’t understand and he couldn’t even hold it against her since she didn’t realize not everyone had graduated with top marks from the local college. To be completely honest, Tom was simply surprised that he’d graduated at all.

“What’s up, guys,” Lumière asks, coming to stand next to the two men. Dick says nothing, just pointing at the lawn across the road where Adam was still going. “Ah, looks like he’s finally getting his wish.” Tom looks down at the slender man, taking in the dark gold of his hair and deep blue of his eyes. “His father never allowed him to participate with other children in things like this.”

“Sounds like a mean son of a bitch,” Tom mutters, turning his gaze back to the young man. Tom’s own father hadn’t been a winner, but at least he’d let Tom go and play on the sunny afternoons when his chores were done. Come to think of it, Tom spent half of his life outside with Dick and Stanley just trying to pass the time until supper was ready. None of them had thought their friendship would survive for so long, let alone two centuries and the invention of the sewing machine.

“He was indeed. I came to work for his family when I was fourteen years old and it pained me whenever I saw the young master being forced to learn how to govern his kingdom instead of skipping rocks across the pond.”

“Well, looks like Belle’s takin’ care of that,” Dick says, giving everyone a toothy grin. “I always knew she was a good woman.”

“You helped me dump her laundry onto the ground,” Tom points out,” not to mention all the times you scattered her papers in the wind.”

“Oh yeah….” Tom snorts and wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. Pleasantly plump, Dick was always up for cuddling of any sorts if it meant sharing warmth in the chilled April breeze. Tom wasn’t complaining either, mind you, he was always up for showing Dick affection now that the other villagers wouldn’t attempt to lynch them.

“Where’s your friend,” Lumière asks after a moment, looking around like he expected to find Stanley hiding behind one of the larger men. “I haven’t seen him today and I was hoping to get his opinion on a hat Plumette designed for me.”

“He and LeFou are staying in this week. The little one’s got a fever.”

“The little one is already thirteen.”

“Try telling those worrywarts that. She texted me earlier and asked me to drag ‘em out of the house so she could rest, but they weren’t having it.”

“It doesn’t help that he literally grabbed Stan by the back of his shirt and attempted to haul him out of Suzanna’s bedroom,” Tom adds with an amused smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that boy fight so hard before.”

“He’s got sharp elbows and his husband’s not much better.”

“He bites.” Tom chomps at the air for emphasis a couple of times, then pulls back the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a bright red mark. “I swear, he must’ve learned that from Gaston or somethin’.”

“Yeah, all those ‘wrestling’ matches in Gaston’s tavern when they thought everyone had gone home for the evening.” Dick shakes his head a little, still mortified even two hundred years after the fact. There were some things you could forget, but seeing Gaston going to town on LeFou on the very table Dick had eaten at earlier wasn’t one of them. “At least this memory here doesn’t make me want to gouge my eyes out.”

“Yes,” Lumière smiles,” there’s just something about a majestic Prince in bunny ears that warms the heart.”


	8. Bedtime Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle reads to her boys and Adam muses over his distrust of clowns.

Days in Villeneuve could be hectic sometimes, they were certainly tiring, but Adam loved to feel the burning in his muscles whenever he helped rebuild the village after a nasty storm. The nights were filled with laughter and mumbled jokes as people spilled out of the tavern, holding onto each other as they stumbled down the streets. Still, his favorite part is coming home and relishing in the complete quiet that surrounds him.

Everyone would be in bed by this time, his wife reading in their room and their son sound asleep in his bed down the hall from her. He could picture it as he toed his boots off by the front door and hung his jacket up, Maurice curled into a little ball with one thumb in his mouth, free arm wrapped securely around his stuffed octopus. Belle would be sitting up with her back against the headboard, hair done up in a messy bun that only made her look cuter in his eyes, blankets pooled around her waist, and a slim finger tapping the back of whichever book she’d pulled off the shelf that night.

He smiles to himself as he makes his way up the stairs, looking forward to a hot bath to wash the grime off his hands and face. It wasn’t until he was in his bedroom and heading for the connecting bath that he realized the bed was empty. Backtracking a couple of steps, he stares at the bed in confusion, noting that the covers were rumpled on Belle’s side and the lamp still on. It didn’t make any sense, where would she be this late at night?

And then he heard it, a soft murmuring and the sound of turning pages. Adam turns and tip-toes down the hall to their son’s room. Belle was sitting on the edge of the bed, Mo curled up as close as he could get without falling, eyes half-lidded as he listened to his mother read. Adam didn’t fault him for this, he loved hearing Belle’s voice as it changed for each new character.

“‘He watched the rise and fall of a telephone wire,’” Belle was reading, the fingers of her free hand carding through their son’s soft hair. “‘In his mind he could hear his father’s gruff voice softly singing to him.’”

“What’d he sing, _Maman_?” Mo’s voice was quiet, a barely there whisper, and his brown eyes were focused on the window across the room. Adam had built a window seat there just last week and he often found Maurice sitting on it like it was a throne as he held court over a bunch of teddy bears and toy cars.

“‘ _If only, if only,’ the woodpecker sighs,’ the bark on the tree was just a little bit softer_.’” Belle’s singing was a wonderful thing, Adam allowing his eyes to close as it washed over him. He recognized part of the song from a movie Maurice insisted on watching with his grandfather whenever it came on, the elder Maurice gladly relaxing on the couch with his grandson for an hour or two. “‘ _While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, he cries to the moon,’ If only, if only_.’”

“I like that song,” Mo says around a big yawn. One of his hands, so tiny, curls into the material of Belle’s nightgown as he attempts to fight off sleep just a little while longer. “I wish Dad could’a heard it.” With a gentle smile, Adam steps into the room and moves to kneel beside the bed.

“Look who made it, Mo.” Brown eyes flick over to Adam and light up in tired excitement when they land on him.

“Dad!”

“Hey, Mo,” Adam greets, keeping his voice low. “You didn’t think I’d miss out on giving you night-night loving, did you?” Mo shakes his head, giggling when Adam leans over to press an overexaggerated kiss to one of his plump cheeks. “I love you, little man.”

“Love you too, Dad.” Belle starts reading again, repeating the song at Mo’s request, and it’s not long afterwards that their son is sound asleep. Adam could have stayed like that for hours, knees be damned, just watching the steady rise and fall of Maurice’s chest and listening to the little noises he made. He was deep in dreamland, on some adventure with his octopus at his side.

“He’s so perfect.”

“Of course he is,” Belle agrees, standing and setting the book down in its spot on the desk nearby,” we made him.” Adam snorts and stands as well, wrapping his arms around his wife’s waist. She looks up at him and he’s amazed once again that someone so beautiful and _good_ chose him despite how awful he had been to her. He was a beast in both senses of the word, but she had seen past that to the little boy he’d been before his father’s corrupting influence. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” His blue eyes shift from his wife to their son, taking in the flushed cheeks and faint smile curling his lips up. “Belle, would you read to me tonight?” She turns in his arms, resting her hands flat against his chest as she studies him for a moment. He often had nightmares, leading to him spending half the night wide awake in the den, but they weren’t as bad on the nights he went to sleep hearing her voice.

“I’d love to.” She ushers him out of the room and down the hall to the one they shared, nodding towards the bathroom. “Get cleaned up and I’ll find us a book to read.”

“ _Not_ _Shakespeare_.”

“Well, you just suck the fun out of everything.” She winks before moving to the bookcase, fingers trailing over well-worn spines of the numerous books. He’d bought her an entire library and he’d still find books lying in random places around their home; stacks on the coffee table, two or three perched precariously on the DVD player, a worn paperback of that odious play _Romeo and Juliet_ stuck between the washrags and first aid kit in their bathroom.

He supposed he couldn’t really complain since half of the books littering their house belonged to him. Sure, his were mostly adventures and fantasy, the only real tale of romance he owned was the one of Guinevere and Lancelot unless you wanted to count the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy amongst them.

Adam makes quick work or washing up and pulling on his pajamas, curious about which book would grab hold of Belle’s attention tonight. The way the woman read was like the books were prime steak and she was starving, going through them like they were going out of style. In fact, he’s fairly certain the only book that took her more than two days was a Stephen King one about a demented clown. _Aren’t all clowns demented, though?_ Adam didn’t trust the things, red noses meant you were drunk off your ass or sick, not that you should be dancing around near kids, dammit.

He comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, sweats hanging low on his hips and damp hair brushing his bare shoulders. “Decide on something yet, darling,” he asks, flopping backwards on the bed with his hands beneath his head. “Preferably something without all that romantic mush you’re so fond of.”

“Keep that up and I’ll go for the Jane Austen novels.” But she was grinning as she joined him in their bed, pulling the heavy comforter up over them both. She settles against the headboard, allowing Adam to rest his head in her lap. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” She clears her throat, free hand moving to his back and rubbing soothing circles across the smooth flesh. It was still strange to catch sight of it in the mirror, no scars to show for being shot three times by a maniac nor fur that had covered him entirely for ten years.

“‘The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac….”

**The book Belle reads to Mo is _Holes_ by Louis Sachar and the book she reads to Adam is _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde. **


	9. Questionable Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam’s a good dad, he’d fight anyone on this. 
> 
> He also just lost his kids in the grocery store.

Adam liked to think he was a pretty laidback father where rules are concerned, not hovering over his children nor completely ignoring them. That being said, it probably wasn’t the smartest decision to let a seventeen year old and a five year old run loose in a crowded Walmart. _It’s not a big deal_ , he tried to convince himself.

 _Belle’s going to beat me unconscious with a book if I don’t find them soon_.

That thought spurred him on and it took all the dignity he had left—not much if he was being honest—to keep from sprinting towards the candy aisle. If there was anything his daughter loved more than bedtime stories, it was half-price Valentine’s Day candy. To any onlookers, he probably looked like a madman, his blue eyes wild with panic as he practically skidded to a stop in the aisle he was looking for.

The only people browsing there were an elderly lady that seemed to be stuffing as many boxes of chocolate almonds in her basket as possible and the ex-wife of Cogsworth (the latter couldn’t stand him after he’d shrugged off the fact that Cogsworth, Lumière, and Plumette had _finally_ gotten together). He takes a moment to double-check that his children weren’t there and then began a fast jog to the toy section on the other end of the store.

Why they had to space these things out so much was beyond him, but it only served to show how out of shape he’s gotten since Rosie was born. He was huffing and puffing by the time he made it to the shelves of dolls and those horrid Monster High _things_ , long hair escaping the ponytail at the nape of his neck and framing his face. Once again, the aisle was empty of his kids, though he did get a baffled look from Mrs. Potts. She didn’t say anything, just arched one fine brow in such a way that clearly stated _Calm down and act a little more majestic, dear_. He gives her an overexaggerated shrug, already breathless as he turns on his heel.

“Movies,” Adam mutters,” they’ll be at the movie aisle for sure.” After all, he’d heard Suzanna and Maurice talking just the other day about a new movie coming out that they’d been dying to see. Something about wars in space and robots that could sass Tom into next week. Not that that was a hard thing to do, Tom was more accustomed to dry humor and was often sending his niece unimpressed looks when she stopped by to see him.

As he came closer to the movies ( _Rogue One_ , that’s it!), he found himself beginning to relax and his stride returning to normal. They would most definitely be here and Rose will probably be tugging Mo away from the war in the stars in order to get a better look at some new Peppa Pig film. _Why she likes British farm animals is beyond me, but whatever gets her to sleep at night_.

Unfortunately for the stressed Prince, his children were still missing and he found himself wondering if Belle would at least kill him quickly when she found out he’d misplaced them.

Adam was just about ready to get on the intercom and demand that his demon spawn meet him at a cash register in five minute or he’d ground them for the next century (after hugging them and making sure they were perfectly fine, of course) when he heard a familiar trill of laughter. His head snaps to the side, blue eyes locking on a model tent that had been set up in the outdoors section, able to make out two vague shadows that might have been shaped like the brats he calls children.

With a stern set to his jaw, he charges through the throngs of people and kneels in front of the camouflage tent, ripping the flap open with a strength that reminded him all too much of his time as a fur-covered snob. He shakes that thought from his mind and focuses instead on the two shocked kids looking up at him. Maurice’s mouth had dropped open, septum ring catching in the light when his nose twitches. _Belle’s does that sometimes when she’s surprised, too_.

“Dad,” he manages after a moment,” is something wrong? You look like you just ran the mile in less than a minute.”

“I pretty much did,” he remarks, tone harsher than he’d meant. The teen didn’t flinch back or show any signs of fear, he just knitted his brows together while his little sister tilted her head back to see Adam better. “I’ve spent the last ten minutes sprinting all around this God-awful store trying to find the pair of you!”

“Why didn’t you just call me?”

“Because….” He trips over his words, not wanting to admit that he’d forgotten all about the phone in his pocket during his panic to find them. “Because I prefer old fashioned methods.”

“Like screaming out our names dramatically in the frozen aisle?” Adam scowls, trying to pinpoint exactly when his son had turned into a smartass. Surely he hadn’t always been like that, had he? He couldn’t exactly come out of the womb with that attitude.

“What are the two of you doing in a tent,” he asks instead. He tries his best to keep his frown in place (he’d learned the expression from Cogsworth), though his daughter makes that difficult when she curls up in his lap with a cute little giggle.

“Rosie liked it.” It was as simple as that, Adam realized, Rosie liked it and her big brother was wrapped around her pinky like a piece of twine. And, upon meeting her blue eyes, he could understand exactly what had compelled Maurice to crawl inside a tent in the middle of Walmart. “You thought you’d lost us, didn’t you?” Mo was grinning, his eyes glimmering with the same mirth that had danced in his mother’s eyes when Adam had gifted her with an entire library.

“Promise me you won’t tell your mother about this and I’ll buy you the tent.”


	10. Cogsworth's Coming Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cogsworth gets tired of all the happy couples surrounding him and decides to cut ties with his wife. 
> 
> Lumière and Plumette couldn't be happier.

The day Henri Cogsworth finally came out to his wife has become a legend in Villeneuve and a source of motivation for the younger children who witnessed it (“If Cogsworth can come out to the Wicked Witch, then _I_ can give my speech in front of my class”). In fact, it seemed the only person who never talked about it afterwards was the ex-wife herself.

It was a bright day in early July when it happened, Cogsworth blushing a tomato red when his irritating (dear) friend pressed a loud smack on Cogsworth’s cheek right in the middle of a coffee shop. Lumière had seen nothing wrong with the gesture, always an overly affectionate type when it came to the people he cared about. Cogsworth happened to be the exact opposite, his mustache twitching as he fought back a tirade full of reasons why the blond should keep his hands (and lips) to himself.

Unfortunately, the top of that tirade was the fact that Cogsworth craved those kisses more each and every time he received one.

He couldn’t help it, tried to fight those urges since he was married, but it was growing impossible. Not only did he have Lumière leaning against him and planting those damnable kisses against his cheeks, he also had the beautiful Plumette doing the very same thing. It wasn’t fair! How was any person supposed to remain loyal to a woman they haven’t loved in over twenty years, let alone one that viewed affection of any type as tiresome? Cogsworth felt as though his mind would explode from the conundrum soon.

He sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly, turning his gaze towards the window instead of lingering on the way the sunlight turned Lumière’s hair golden or the way Plumette was giving him one of those smiles that made everything pale in comparison. And once again, the planets seemed to have aligned to curse his day because, waiting for him just outside the window he was seated next to, Stanley and LeFou were laughing about something and their baby girl was spinning to make the skirt of her dress fan out around her.

_Damn happy couples._

Just one break, that’s all he wanted, one measly break where these feelings didn’t have him all turned around. Was it too much to ask for in the long run? For crying out loud, he spent ten years as a clock, fought in a battle against people that were three times his size, _and_ had waddled his way up several flights of stairs only to be told that his young master wouldn’t participate in the actual fighting. The least God could do was either make these feelings go away or let his wife be chased out of town by an angry mob. Then again, the last angry mob was defeated by a bunch of sentient furniture, so maybe not.

He turns again and is startled when Plumette reaches out to capture his hands in hers, that breathtaking smile aimed his way. When he looks back a few years down the road, he realizes that this was the moment when his life began to change and regained that sense of self that he had lost the day after his marriage. Because, in that moment, Lumière wrapped a strong arm about his shoulders and Cogsworth felt his grasp on control slip.

“That’s it,” he nearly shouts, scooting forcibly until his friend falls from the booth. “I’ve had it!”

“Had what,” Lumière asks incredulously. “Where are you going, _mon ami_?”

“To end this blasted marriage once and for all!” Cogsworth storms out of the coffee shop with his hands fisted at his sides and arms pumping furiously as he went. His friends come chasing after him and he can hear a murmured conversation between the pair and the Beaumont family.

“I gotta see this,” he heard LeFou shout soon afterwards. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened around here since Mo said his first word!” Cogsworth’s lips twitch in a grin that he was attempting to stifle, remembering the Prince’s face when his son had pointed right at him and proudly proclaimed him to be an avocado. It had been LeFou’s fault and Belle had taken to calling Adam an avocado at law for an entire month after the incident. The young master still blushed whenever he heard the word.

As he makes his way through the village, a crowd began to gather behind him as the others explained what was going on. By the time he actually made it to his wife’s place of business—a clothing boutique run by Stanley’s own younger sister—only a few members of the crowd could actually fit inside and, even then, Elise Beaumont’s glare was enough to have several of those people backing out again.

“What’s goin’ on,” the blonde demands, hands on her hips. She didn’t take well to any kind of negative attention when it came to her store (that was drilled into everyone’s head after she smacked a sexist customer with a very thick dictionary).

“I need to have an important conversation with my…” He trails off a moment as his blue eyes land on the thin, gangly woman currently holding an armful of homemade trousers. “….Wife. Is that quite alright, Miss Beaumont?” Elise looks to Clothilde first, then shrugs at the older woman’s curt nod.

“Make it quick or I’ll sic my niece on you.” She picks said little girl up a moment later, the three year old fitting snuggly on her hip. It’s then that Cogsworth notices Lumière, Plumette, Stanley, and LeFou were standing a few feet away just inside the store and half the village were waiting outside with the royal family pressing their noses against the glass of the door. _So much for those etiquette lessons I gave the Adam_. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the gazes burning holes in his back, he faces the woman he’s been married to for God only knows how long at this point.

“Clothilde, what are your feelings towards me?”

“You’re my husband,” she says, brows furrowed.

“Yes, but how do you feel? Do you even love me?”

“Would I have married you if I didn’t love you? What’s all this about and why is the Prince’s breath fogging up the door I’ve just washed?” She sends a pointed glare at the young man, but it doesn’t hold a candle to Beatrice Pott’s.

“I used to love you, used to think you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.” She puffs up like a proud peacock, and he was able to catch a glance of the smiling girl he used to know. That was long before the Curse was cast, back when their worries were less and pre-sliced bread was never thought of. “But then you showed your true colors a few weeks afterwards, I learned you’d married me because of my position in the castle. I didn’t want to believe it at first, Clothilde, but you remained callous even after I became human again.”

“That’s not—”

“Please let me finish while I have the nerve to do so. You are abusive to children, you look down on our sweet Princess, and just yesterday I heard you calling Plumette a strumpet under your breath.” There’s an audible gasp and then he could hear the sounds of Stanley and LeFou attempted to hold back Cogsworth’s friends. “Insulting my friends is where I draw the line! I want a divorce and I want it right this minute!”

“And who do you think will put up with you like I have all these years, Henri,” she demands, hands on her hips. “You’re pompous, arrogant, and you have the largest stick I’ve ever seen surgically embedded in your backside.” She looked pleased with herself now, like she had won some kind of battle. Cogsworth raises his chin as he’d been taught to, turns on his heel, grabs the front of Lumière’s jacket, and yanks him in for a sound kiss on the lips. It was confident and all the things Cogsworth wasn’t yet feeling, but then Lumière was returning it just as passionately and he felt a warmth flood through him like he’d never experienced before.

He was panting when he pulled Plumette for the same treatment, the younger woman pressing her warm palms against his cheeks, a reassuring, grounding touch as he worked through the initial fear of rejection and embarrassment. Cogsworth wasn’t the type to cause a spectacle, but this one had been a long time in coming. When he pulls back again, panting as his two friends stand protectively on either side of him, he’s able to make out the mortified expression on Clothilde’s face.

“Well now,” Plumette states with a devilish smile,” I think that answers your question, _Madame_.”

“Yes,” Lumière states with a firm nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe I’ll treat my boyfriend and girlfriend to some lunch.” Lumière turns with a hair flip and leads the way outside, the crowd parting like the Red Sea did for Moses as they passed. “I knew you’d come around if I gave you enough hints.”

And, for the first time in years, Cogsworth grinned for all to see when he felt two arms looped around his waist.


	11. The Inconvenience of Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam’s newborn decides early morning is the perfect time to wake up for a few minutes. 
> 
> For the 30 Days of Beauty and the Beast over on Tumblr. Prompt for today was morning.

Adam had been sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks when he heard a noise, just the crackle of static over the baby monitor. His eyes shoot open, waiting with baited breath to see if it was a fluke or if his son was waking up. For a while, there was nothing and he was just about to relax again when the noise sounded once more.

Beside him, Belle lets out a soft sigh and turns onto her side, utterly exhausted and unaware of anything other than her dreams. Adam was certain that a pack of starving wolves could burst into the room right then and his wife would sleep right through it. She deserved it, though, their son seemed to wake up every two hours on the nose no matter how often Adam pleaded with him to _just go back to sleep, you little hellion_.

Maurice didn’t listen, he was rather like his mother in that sense.

With a sigh of his own, Adam forces himself to leave his warm bed and shuffle down the hallway to the nursery. Mo was wide awake in his crib, little hands waving in the air and balled into fists. Everything about Mo was so tiny, but he was heathy and there was a rosy glow in his plump little cheeks that had Adam breathing easier.

“‘S’all right,” the Prince mumbles,” your daddy’s right here.” Mo’s crying doesn’t falter, it even seems to get worse when dark eyes land on Adam. “Well, I know I’m not as pretty as your mother, but that’s just rude.” Resigned, he picks his son up and cradles him close to his chest, bouncing him gently the same way he’d seen Belle do. “You know, your mother is the best when it comes to calming down upset children. Suzanna was screaming bloody murder, but quieted right up when Belle took her in her arms.”

The crying slows, Adam’s body heat soothing him as well as the steady beating of his heart beneath the child’s ear.

“Suzanna’s your cousin, the one that loves holding your hand,” Adam continues, smiling down at Mo despite the drowsiness fogging his mind. “She’s a bit wild at times, but she loves you and I know you two will be the best of friends.” Mo lets out a small noise, pink nose twitching. “Yeah, I know how annoying girls can be, but you’ll learn to tolerate them one day.”

Still bouncing him, Adam crosses the room to the rocking chair near the window, sitting and laying the baby across his chest. Adam wasn’t especially broad, not like he had been when he was nearly seven feet tall and covered in fur, but he was still strong and his son didn’t seem to mind. One hand comes up and tangles in a bit of Adam’s loose hair, just holding like it was a security blanket.

“I can’t wait until you can talk back, but I also want you to stay this little forever. You’re a beautiful little boy, Maurice, and I love being able to cart you around in my arms to show you off. I’m almost certain I’ve shown you to everyone in the village at least thirty times, and that’s not even counting your godparents. Étienne, Stanley, and Mrs. Potts bring you something new every day, even if it’s just a teething ring.” He laughs, soft so as not to wake Belle or startle the baby. “You don’t even have teeth yet, but we’re certainly prepared for when it happens.”

Maurice gives a big yawn, Adam mimicking him before he could stop himself. He was just so damn tired and he still had to go to work in the morning. Apparently new schools didn’t build themselves and Cogsworth was adamant that Adam helped out more than just donating money.

“I read up on teething,” Adam says, another yawn muffling the words,” it looks… Absolutely… Dreadful…” The young man never notices as his chin dips down against his chest nor when Mo falls asleep, both breathing deeply as they dropped off in unison. Belle finds them like this a few hours later, wondering if a more perfect scene had ever been captured.

Adam and Maurice were framed by the faint glow of morning sunlight, the background a swirl of pinks and scarlets.


	12. Green With Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston totally isn’t jealous of LeFou and Stanley (except that he is).
> 
> For the 30 Days of Beauty and the Beast over on Tumblr. Prompt for today was morning.

Gaston wasn’t jealous, he just didn’t go for that sort of thing, and he certainly wouldn’t be jealous of another man that wasn’t nearly as buff as him. Nope, not at all. After all, he could bench press two giggling teenage girls (Suzanna and Daphne were always the first to volunteer because they liked sassing him when he couldn’t knock their heads together), he could hit any target he wished with any weapon he was handed, he could even look dignified while attending a child’s tea party (he’d never admit to actually liking it, though).

So no, definitely not jealous.

Especially not of Stanley just because the younger man could walk in high heels or wear a dress and not look bulky or dance with LeFou. Gaston wasn’t the type to enjoy any of that, so it really wasn’t a big deal. Sure, there were times he missed not having LeFou to lean on and, yeah, there were moments when Gaston wasn’t quite as confident as he wanted to be.

Who cares? He’s a grown ass man (as his companion frequently reminds him in growing frustration), he doesn’t need any of that stuff. He can go without the shoulder massages and gentle, lingering touches of familiar, work-worn hands. He doesn’t need to hear that sweet voice singing about his deeds ( ~~no, Stanley, he’s not pouting~~ ). He most definitely doesn’t yearn to wrap his arm around LeFou’s shoulders just to feel him pressed against his side.

Gaston shakes his head, looking down into his mug of beer to avoid the scene in front of him. It was a Wednesday night and that meant the tavern being filled with couples dancing in the center of the room. Stanley and LeFou were among the patrons, dancing along in perfect synchronization like they had been practicing for decades. Gaston couldn’t stand the sight of it, not when he felt as though his temper could flare at any moment.

Instead he focuses his attention on the cracks in the wooden table and the way the flickering firelight threw shadows over a couple sitting a few feet away at another table. In fact, he focused on anything that wasn’t his best friend getting lost in the eyes of someone that wasn’t Gaston, the way that LeFou’s smile would soften into something intimate.

He was just convincing himself to retire for the night when the door opens, a cool burst of air ruffling his loose hair. Gaston looks up, spotting the familiar form of an eighteen year old that was out past her curfew. It was only Daphne, her hair the mass of curls it turns into without her magic keeping it straight, the brown of her skin standing out against all the suntanned villagers surrounding her.

They were friends, he was proud enough to admit, though not particularly close friends in the traditional sense. She’d brought him back to life and had stuck around to help him acclimate, she felt responsible for him just as he did for her. No matter what anyone said, his heart wasn’t carved from stone and he didn’t like the thought of a child being all alone in the big bad world.

Daphne makes her way through the crowd, dressed in her pajamas and not looking the slightest bit ashamed for the fact. She had obviously been sleeping before she wandered out because there was some dried drool on her chin that she either didn’t notice or didn’t care about.

“Why aren’t you in bed,” he asks, leaping on the chance to distract himself from the way LeFou and Stanley were getting closer. “It’s nearly one in the morning.” He knew that because his watch said so, and he could finally read the damn thing without anyone’s help.

“Couldn’t sleep,” the teen mumbles, sitting across from him. She wasn’t tall enough to block the sight of Stanley’s lips on LeFou’s, something which made a sour taste fill Gaston’s mouth. He didn’t like the fact that the two men were so comfortable around each other, it just wasn’t fair. “How about you?”

“Nightmares again.” Gaston had woken up in a cold sweat an hour or so ago, memories making his chest feel tight as he fought not to succumb further. He had no one to reach for when he jerked himself awake, no hands to hold or loving partner to wrap him in a hug and whisper words of comfort. “I thought a drink would help settle my mind, but I’ve only made myself feel worse.” Daphne turns in her chair, following his gaze where it rested on the two men that were dancing their way to the bar.

“Jealous?”

“Of course not.” She turns back around and arches a brow, looking very much like Gaston’s own mother had when he was a boy and lied about who broke her favorite vase. “I’m not jealous, Daphne. Look at me, I have nothing to be jealous of.” He flexes his biceps to make his point, turning his face so she could take in his perfectly squared jaw. He was a god amongst men where looks were concerned and he most certainly _wasn’t_ envious.

“Your stomach is twisting itself into knots, you have to stop yourself from grinding your teeth when LeFou is kissed, and you look about ready to go over and throw Stanley through a window. If that’s not jealousy, then you’re doing an awfully good Cole Younger impression.”

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.” Gaston scoffs, slouching down in his chair as he avoids her pointed look. Sometimes the teenager could hit too close to home and he absolutely hated that. It wasn’t fair that she could read him so easily and he could only get a vague idea of what she was thinking about. He chances a glance up when he hears the wood of her seat creaking, finding her staring at something with narrowed eyes. Gaston follows her stare this time around and has no trouble spotting young Maurice leaning against the bar, talking to someone around his age. Mo wasn’t flirting, he was just talking about whatever it is seventeen year olds find interesting these days, but Gaston could see the muscles twitching in Daphne’s jaw.

“You should go and talk to him.”

“Who?”

“Belle’s son, the one you’re trying to set on fire with your glaring. Go and talk to him.” She shakes her head, brows drawn down over brown eyes. Gaston’s lips twitch upwards into something of a smile when he realizes that the teen across from him is jealous as well. “Jealous?”

“Of course not,” she says, throwing his earlier words back at him. “I know that girl isn’t Mo’s type.” But she was still clenching her jaw tightly and gripped the arms of her chair tight enough to make her knuckles white. Gaston had been doing much the same thing just ten minutes ago when LeFou asked Stanley to come and dance with him. Daphne and Gaston stay at their table for another hour, watching and glowering at their respective crushes.

And yeah, Gaston would admit later on, maybe they were just a little bit jealous.


	13. Bruised and Bloody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Midnight is when I can tell you how much you keep me sane, LeFou. What would I do without your guidance?”  
> “Well, for starters, you’d probably be passed out in a field somewhere.” 
> 
> For the 30 Days of Beauty and the Beast over on Tumblr. Prompt for today was midnight.

Musket balls zipped through the air as LeFou continued his sprint across the field, a high whistling noise that would never fade from his mind even decades afterwards. The sounds of war made his teeth hurt, but he was sure to keep his gaze focused on the man lying just ahead of him. _A few more feet_ , LeFou urged himself, ignoring the stitch in his side, _just a few more feet, you can do it!_

An explosion just to his right blew him onto his side, face throbbing and arm numb. For a moment, everything blurred and noises dimmed, just that high ringing sound in his ears that drowned all else out. He felt as though he was frozen solid, opening and closing his mouth, but unsure if he was making any noise.

It’s not until his gaze lands on the man so close to him that the fog begins to clear and he’s able to move again. Grunting, LeFou rolls onto his belly and begins to crawl the rest of the distance, collapsing next to the soldier. The man was sprawled out on his back, military jacked torn near the shoulder and bloodied, the decorative brocade that marked him as a Captain hanging on by a thread.

“Gast,” he tries, but his mouth wasn’t wanting to work. Gaston lets out a weak moan to show he could hear, but there was no other response as LeFou set to work. He pulled the pistol out of Gaston’s limp hand, practically laying on the other man to keep the cannonballs from doing too much damage. LeFou wasn’t the best shot in the French militia, but he was able to take out a couple of the invaders that were running towards him.

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours to the shorter man, covered in grime and blood and God only knows what else. Every part of him was screaming in pain, his hearing still wasn’t fully back, but Gaston’s pulse was strong under his shaking fingers. Eventually the skirmish died down with their side coming out on top, all the wounded taken back to the ruined campsite.

LeFou allowed the others to check his wounds, but he refused to stray from Gaston’s bedside. He couldn’t, not when his friend was still unconscious. He watched as wounds were stitched closed, sulfur was divvied up; Gaston remained unconscious through all of it, giving the occasional grunt of pain.

The other wounded slowly fell asleep, the soldiers tending to them following suit, but LeFou forced his eyes to remain open. It was late when the hand beneath his began to twitch, LeFou not registering the movement until the fingers were grasping his own. He looks up from the starch white sheet, locking gazes with his best friend.

“Gaston,” he whispers, the relief obvious in his voice,” you’re awake.”

“Of course I am,” Gaston rasps, mouth twitching up in a shadow of his usual smug grin. He looks around them, realizing they were the only ones in the small, tattered tent. LeFou had requested it, claiming their brave Captain deserved it, but it was mainly because he knew Gaston preferred sleeping by himself. “You look awful, my friend.”

“You don’t look so great yourself,” LeFou returns dryly, arching a brow. “How are you feeling?”

“Probably worse than I feel.” He grunts, attempting to sit up only to have LeFou push him back down. “How’re the men?”

“They’ll get by. We made it out with almost everyone.” It was a miracle, really, they had been ambushed while moving some supplies and it was only Gaston’s amazing instincts that they had reacted in time. “I was really worried about you.” LeFou’s voice breaks at the end and he might have brushed away the tears gathering in his eyes had they not been by themselves. But they were and Gaston didn’t mind LeFou getting emotional, especially not when he was getting emotional over Gaston.

“Come here, darling.” Pet names were so rare to hear these days, they were always surrounded by soldiers and didn’t have time to do much more than a few lingering touches. Before the war, they had been attempting to find out what they were, whether or not they were in love or lust and damned for it, but things had changed so much since then. Now they were lovers in the privacy of their tent when they could afford it, LeFou relishing in the gentle touch that was so rare and the way Gaston’s back would arch as he hovered just above him, skin slick and glowing in moonlight.

“No, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m too heavy anyway.”

“Don’t you ever say that again.” The sudden vehemence made LeFou gasp, wondering why Gaston would suddenly care so much. “You’re beautiful, LeFou, I thought you knew that. You’re always so….” He trails off, gesturing vaguely with the hand that wasn’t splinted. “I don’t know, _confident_. LeFou, you keep me human and I won’t have you thinking so badly of yourself.”

“Gaston, I just meant that I didn’t want to put unneeded pressure on your chest wound. I already know how great I look.” Gaston lets out a startled laugh, the sound loud in the quiet of the night. “Have you seen my hair? It’s even better than yours. Uh, no offense or anything.”

“No, you’re right in that much. All I can do with my hair is pull it off my face.” He tugs on a limp strand of black hair before reaching out to touch some of LeFou’s, winding a loose curl around his finger. “What time is it?”

“Probably close to midnight.”

“The best time to be awake.” LeFou gives him a look of confusion and Gaston shrugs as best as he can. “The world is quiet and I have no one that I need to impress.” He continues playing with LeFou’s hair, lips parted just enough for LeFou to make out the edge of one sharp incisor. “Midnight is when I can tell you how much you keep me sane, LeFou. What would I do without your guidance?”

“Well, for starters, you’d probably be passed out in a field somewhere.”


	14. Warm Embraces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle reveals some important news during her evening bath.
> 
> For the 30 Days of Beauty and the Beast over on Tumblr. Prompt for today was bath.

Belle loved to take baths, they were warm and she didn’t have to think about anything other than getting herself clean. Her papa always told her that her mother loved baths as well, another thing Belle had in common with her. After moving to Villeneuve and beginning to help out more on the small farm, she learned to savor her time in the warm water that soothed aching muscles.

She would relax, book in hand, and let the word around her fall away as she lost herself in fair Verona. Sometimes she’d read it aloud, her papa able to hear her through the thin walls of their home. He’d be carving something small at their kitchen table, sharpened blade slicing easily through the wood as he listened to Belle’s voice. He would quote along with her in places, the ones he knew by heart about love and tragedy.

Some nights she wouldn’t even bring a book with her, she’d stare up at the ceiling and let her thoughts wander. She would imagine what her life would be like if her mother had lived, how happy her papa would have been to have her by his side forever. Surely things would be different in Villeneuve. How could anyone, even the villagers, not be affected by Belle’s mother? She would even hazard to guess that Gaston would steer far away because her mother would surely have put him in his place.

The one thing that didn’t change through the years was that bathing was meant to be a solitary endeavor. It was a moment where she didn’t have to deal with other people, she could just close her eyes and make all her problems go away with a simple daydream. She’d assumed it would be much the same after marriage because surely the tub wasn’t big enough for two people.

Adam had swiftly proved her wrong.

He loved baths as well, more so now that he didn’t have to worry about being weighed down by fur (“It’s not funny, Belle, I could have drowned!”). It took some getting used to for both of them—Belle liked to sprawl out and Adam was something of a snob when it came to bath oils—but they managed after the first few times.

Adam would sit with his back against the edge and Belle settled carefully in his lap, his arms spread along the sides while she read (not _Romeo and Juliet_ , he’d threatened to throw it out the window last time) or talked. It didn’t really matter because she loved how warm he was and the vibrating of his chest when he laughed. She could pass hours like that, breathing in the scent of lavender and feeling his chin against the top of her head when he spoke.

Even years after they were first married, her favorite time to spend with him was during the early evenings when they would bathe as their supper was prepared. She would recline against his chest and watch as the steam curled upwards in a sensual dance towards the vaulted ceilings, disappearing just before they could reach the mural of blue skies and golden butterflies.

“I’ve some news for you,” she says one night, voice soft yet echoing all the same. Adam lets out a noise that made his chest rumble against her back, urging her to continue. She found that he didn’t talk when it wasn’t necessary, preferring to make sounds of varying decibels that Plumette helped to decipher. “Actually, I want to ask you something first.”

“What is it, love,” he asks. She turns her head to gaze up at him, finding him with his head tilted back and those lovely blue eyes of his nearly glazed over. He always got so dreamy in these moments, his mind floating away from anything that wasn’t Belle.

“What do you think of the name Maurice? Mo for short, of course.” He makes another sound that Belle remembers to mean he’s thinking. After a brief pause, Adam shrugs and seems to sink slightly further into the hot water. “I’ve always loved it, but I suppose I’m biased.”

“Is your father asking about grandchildren again? Just tell him we’re trying our hardest and that he’ll have to battle Lumière over potential names.” Lumière was always quick to put in his name whenever the talk of children comes up, but Cogsworth is even quicker with his withering _knock it off before I knock off your head_ look. The expression even worked on Adam from time to time, which is good considering their finances would never have been sorted out otherwise.

“Well, they better have that battle figured out in the next eight months or else they’ll be too late.” Belle rises and steps out, wrapping herself up in one of the large, sheet-like towels that was set out on a table. She waits a moment for the news to sink in, smiling as she turns back towards her husband. Adam was still lying in the bathtub, looking very much like he was trying to decode a secret message. When he does figure it out, his jaw drops and he looks up at Belle like she was an angel come to earth.

“So that’s why Plumette hit me when I offered you a glass of wine earlier. Hey, wait a moment, you told Plumette before you told me? That’s just not fair!”  

“Be honest with yourself, darling, she’s far more capable than half the people in this castle.”


	15. Joke's on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston learns he's not half as funny as he thinks he is. 
> 
> For the 30 Days of Beauty and the Beast over on Tumblr. Prompt for today was leather.

“Because it’s literally made of _hide!”_ Gaston stares at the teen in front of him, grinning broadly as he waited for her reaction. Suzanna just sits there, looking unimpressed as he chuckles at his own wit. “It’s a funny joke! Why aren’t you laughing?”

“Because the joke is older than you are,” the blonde returns.

“Daphne would’ve laughed.” Suzie arches a brow at that and Gaston scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. Okay, so Daphne probably _wouldn’t_ have laughed at the joke he’d just learned, but at least the goth had manners enough to pretend it was amusing to her. LeFou’s daughter just didn’t have a sense of humor, that had to be it. “I’ll go and tell it to her right now.”

“This I’ve gotta see.” The pair rise from the couch and leave the house, walking through the village square and across to the clothing boutique that Daphne was spending her time in. He didn’t approve of her spending so much time with Stanley’s younger sister, but he was wise to keep his mouth shut after the woman had brandished a thick dictionary (apparently striking elders with the book was a family tradition if Stanley was to be believed).

Daphne was sitting cross-legged on the floor when they walked inside, singing along off-key to a Britney Spears song while she sewed. Elise Beaumont had taken her in just last week, determined to teach the teen a useful skill even if it killed her. So far, sewing has been something that Daphne took to like a duck takes to water, which is endlessly hilarious considering Daphne’s nickname is Ducky.

“Hey,” she greets without looking up, focused on threading her needle. “Elise said I can take my lunch break in ten minutes if that’s why you’re here.”

“No, there’s a matter that needs settling.” Daphne glances up from her work, quirking up a brow in that way of hers that meant _this had better be good_. “I’ve just told the world’s best joke and your friend here says that it’s not even the slightest bit funny.”

“That’s not what I said,” Suzanna argues. “I said it’s even older than you are, which is a feat in and of itself considering you’re about to be—” Gaston claps a hand over her mouth, not needing to be reminded of his age. He knew how old he was and didn’t feel like having it advertised all over the village. With an impressive frown (she must have gotten that from LeFou because not even Stanley can look _that_ mean), Suzanna shoves his hand off and delivers a hard punch to his shoulder. “Hands to yourself, dude. We all learned that in pre-K.”

“I didn’t go to pre-K so there.” He sticks out his tongue at her and she looked ready to punch him again, but Gaston was saved by an impatient sound coming from somewhere below them. When he looks down again, Daphne’s got the needle held like a miniature sword. “What?”

“You two dorks interrupted my work for a reason, remember,” the teen asks. She seemed ready to stab Gaston and Suzanna, and neither of them would put it past her either. “Get to the reason so I can get back to sewing before the blonde whirlwind of hard work speeches gets back.” Gaston looks around for said whirlwind, but Elise must still be getting supplies from the craft store in the next village.

“Sorry, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I only wish you weren’t working some old spinster’s job is all, Daphne.”

“Are you calling my aunt an old spinster,” Suzanna demands, hands on her hips. Adoptive daughter or not, she looked so much like her fathers in that moment that Gaston half-expected her to beat him over the head with a broom.

“Of course not.” Then, under his breath, he muttered,” You only make _that_ mistake once.” Last time he’d said such a thing, Elise had grabbed her damn dictionary and hit him hard enough to give him a concussion. The joke was on her, though, she’d been forced to sit with him all night and Stanley had taken his sister’s favorite weapon away from her for a whole month.

“Keep it up and I’ll tell her everything.”

“And I’ll tell her why her favorite sewing kit disappeared last Halloween.”

“For the last time, it was an emergency! It’s hardly my fault that Sabrina knocked it into the toilet while I was distracted!”

“How many times must I say the cat is bad luck?” The pair turn to face Daphne again, sending her accusing looks. Sabrina was the witch’s Familiar, a black ball of pure evil. Sure, it liked to cuddle some nights, but ninety-percent of its time was spent trying to give Gaston a heart attack.

“Tell me the damn joke or I’ll get my cat.”

“Oh yes. Prepare yourself, Ducky, because this joke is the best.” Daphne sends him a dry look, but he ignores it as he clears his throat. “Why is leather armor the best for sneaking? Because it’s literally made of _hide!”_ Daphne’s expression doesn’t change and Gaston can feel frustration creeping further into his voice. “It’s funny dammit!”

“It’s really not, bro.”


	16. Reading Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle discovers LeFou in the library one night when they can’t sleep and decides to help him learn to read.
> 
> For the 30 Days of Beauty and the Beast over on Tumblr. Prompt for today was bright.

It never occurred to Belle that Étienne couldn’t read, never even crossed her mind until she wandered into the library on a night she couldn’t sleep. It was storming outside and Adam kept hogging all the blankets, so she’d decided to curl up near the fireplace with a book of poetry. It wasn’t until she was already inside the large room that she realized someone had lit a fire and that very same somebody was sitting on a pillow, hunching over a book.

Her first thought was of her husband, but he’d been snoring when she left earlier (not that he’d ever admit to snoring as ‘Princes just don’t do that, Belle, you must have been imagining things’), then she thought of Cogsworth, but the person’s silhouette wasn’t quite the right shape for that.

Belle creeps further into the room, squinting to make out who the person was in the flickering shadows thrown by the flames. It’s not until she was crouching behind one of the chairs that she made out the soft, rounded features of Étienne Lacroix as he stared fixedly at the book in his hands. His hair fell in soft waves across his shoulders, the curls more noticeable than they usually were in his ponytail, nearly the same rich brown as Belle’s own hair.

“‘ _In what dis-distant_ ,’” he was saying, barely more than a whisper as he struggled to get the words out. His cheeks were bright red and she could see tears gathering in his eyes, making the irises shine and glitter in the light. “‘ _Distant d-deep_ ….’” He trails off with a hefty sigh, setting the book on the floor next to him.

“Étienne,” Belle asks, straightening up so he could see her. He jerks backwards when she speaks, falling over onto his back with a squeak of surprise.

“Where the hell did you come from?! Uh, I mean…. Sorry, Princess.”

“I’m not a Princess yet.” She comes around the chair and sits on the floor next to him, watching as he sat back up on the fluffy pillow he’d brought down with him. Étienne and Stanley had moved into the castle just a few short weeks ago after a group of men in the village had assaulted the pair for their sexual preferences. Tom and Dick had been quick to jump to their rescue, but they couldn’t be expected to escort them around every day.

“I’m sorry for being in here, I know how much you care about your books. I just couldn’t sleep because of the storm, and I was having these awful nightmares that _just won’t go away_ , and then I figured I could practice….” He trails off when he realizes how much he’s rambling, the color in his cheeks deepening to a vivid scarlet. “I’ll put the book up and leave if you want.”

“No, it’s alright, Étienne. I enjoy company when I’m reading. If I knew you liked to read as well, then I would’ve invited you in here long before now. We could talk about books if you’d like.” She was honestly just excited about having something to bond with him over that didn’t revolve around their limited knowledge of egg recipes.

“About that…” He lets out a nervous chuckle, tugging on one of his curls as he lowered his gaze to his bare feet. They were as pale as the rest of him, almost seeming to glow in the bad lighting. _He has a scar on the top_ , Belle observes absently. It stretched all the way across the top of his foot, pale pink and puckered, but she could tell it was old. “I can’t actually read.”

“Nonsense, I just saw you—”

“I was practicing and failing miserably.”

“I think you were doing wonderfully.” She picks up the book and smiles when she recognizes the poem she’d caught him reading. “Oh, I love this one.” Étienne glances up, fingers of his free hand twitching in his lap. He wanted to reach out and take the book, but he was afraid he’d be rejected. “I thought you went to school with Gaston.”

“I did for a few weeks, but it became too expensive. My father needed help on the farm and my mother was so ill that I was scared to leave her for too long, so I just stopped attending school and started helping out around my home. She was gone a month later.” Belle couldn’t remember ever seeing Étienne’s mother, not even around the fountain with the other ladies on washing day, but she _did_ know his father. Julien Lacroix was a good man, though strict, and he hadn’t let himself or his only child be bullied by Gaston.

“Why the sudden urge to read now?” The blush that had just started to fade comes back with a vengeance, Étienne’s white teeth biting into his plump lower lip. “I don’t mean to pry, I was just curious.”

“Stanley said he liked to listen to poetry yesterday.” Belle gives a soft smile, fully understanding where her companion was coming from. There were days when she and Adam would go sit out in the garden and tell each other poems as they hid from the staff, enjoying the warm sunshine and the smell of flowers. It makes sense that Étienne and Stanley would have similar urges for solitude and peace away from the inhabitants of the castle.

“Then we’d best get started on this poem if you want to know it by heart.” He looks up, mouth agape as though she’d just said the most shocking thing in the world. “Come here, we’ll read it together.” After composing himself, he scoots closer to her and she’s all the more grateful for the warmth radiating off of him. “You start.”

“‘ _Tyger Tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night_ ….’”

[The Poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/43687)


End file.
